


having a (semi-)responsibly territorial girlfriend

by novoaa1



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Football, Soft Girlfriends, They love each other, but we love her for that, cuz they cute, hope can be kind of a hothead, raf and josie bein buds, rated mature for like a couple lines where they get it on, responsible ish possessiveness?? i guess??, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:50:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Hope was… a territorial girlfriend. Perhaps Josie should’ve expected this, especially when considering Hope had never been known to do things in halves—but, really… to this degree?(She’ll admit there was a not-so-small part of her that enjoyed it—the less-than-subtle aggression, the firmer-than-necessary kissing in the halls, the overarchingpossessivenessof it all.)Or: Hope and Josie are dating. Hope can get a little... overprotective about it. (And maybe, just maybe, Josie kind of sort of likes it. A lot.)





	having a (semi-)responsibly territorial girlfriend

**Author's Note:**

> did i edit this? sort of. not rlly
> 
> sorry for any mistakes i just kind of had an idea and did a thing hope you like:)

Hope was… a territorial girlfriend. Perhaps Josie should’ve expected this, especially when considering Hope had never been known to do things in halves—but, really… to this degree?

(She’ll admit there was a not-so-small part of her that enjoyed it—the less-than-subtle aggression, the firmer-than-necessary kissing in the halls, the overarching _possessiveness_ of it all.)

It set something fond alight within her chest, not to mention the white-hot jolts of arousal that coursed between her legs at every glare, every snarl, every last thing Hope did as if marking her claim, as if doing her absolute damnedest to ensure there wasn’t a single soul at the Salvatore Boarding School who didn’t know that Josie was hers, and hers only.

Josie thinks that if it had been anyone else, she might find it annoying—worthy of a serious conversation, at the very least (possibly one in which she threatened a break-up if such alpha-male behavior continued).

But, with Hope… well. 

She suppose she should have known that things would be different with Hope. (They always had been.)

First, it was the annual football match versus Mystic Falls High. She Who Must Not Be Named had come to make yet another of her trademark out-of-thin-air appearances that literally no one had asked for, and fine, Josie would admit that her ex-girlfriend looked undeniably stunning in that cheerleader-schoolgirl hybrid of a skirt and starch white button-down with a couple buttons undone to form a plunging V-neck—but, still, she was Satan incarnate, and she’d hurt Josie last year so much worse than anyone else (maybe even Lizzie included) had ever dared to, and that was more than enough to ensure she more or less ignored Penelope’s admittedly distracting outfit, choosing instead to focus on the issue at hand: the football game. 

Of course, she didn’t notice the lone figure of Hope standing in the distance upon the hills, or the way her tribrid girlfriend (though it’s important to note that the ‘girlfriend’ bit was fairly new as of yet) seemed to glower at Josie’s ex from afar as if trying to telepathically set her ablaze through sheer force of will—really, she hadn’t expected Hope to show even the slightest hint of interest in the yearly football match (she never did), not when there were things to do and spells to cast and people to save… Hope had always been unfailingly heroic like that. (And, of course, Josie had always adored that about her.)

But, she couldn’t help but notice when a half an hour later, and the game had ended (Josie’s last-ditch spell on Kaleb having been executed to perfection): Hope (gorgeous as ever) stormed onto the makeshift field in something Josie could only describe as an altogether aggressive (read: devastatingly sexy) huff, her typically blue-green irises glowing a lurid amber with darkened black veins appearing beneath in a domineering show of bloodlust, heavy-browed glower narrowing intimidatingly as she stalked purposefully towards an ever-unapologetic Penelope Park seated primly upon the sidelines.

Josie, belatedly catching sight of it all as Hope neared the target of her rage, immediately turned on her heel and exited the post-game huddle, ignoring the indignant protests Lizzie shouted after her.

She raced over with Hope having come just a meter or two from a smirking Penelope (who’d since stood from the bench to observe the imminent altercation with crossed arms and a smug grin on her pretty features), barely catching her girlfriend by the shoulders and placing herself squarely between the two, an involuntary shiver running throughout her body at the sight (up close, especially) of Hope’s glowing saffron irises out on full display.

“Babe,” she'd whispered, not bothering to keep the desperation she felt from seeping into her frantic tone—she sighed audibly with relief when Hope’s single-minded approach halted for a moment, the tribrid's supernaturally-muscled shoulders (even beneath the school’s uniform) like iron beneath Josie’s hands. 

Hope’s burning xanthous gaze darted to meet hers and Josie felt a full-body shudder wracking her being, begetting an uncomfortable warmth to pool lower and lower in her belly even as she internally cursed herself for losing focus—and, by the excited gleam in Hope’s yellowy eyes, she could sense it, too. 

“What’s the matter?” Penelope called pompously then, mirth dripping from every word—instantly, Hope stiffened beneath Josie’s grip, a renewed fire surging in her eyes, a low snarl escaping her gritted teeth, and Josie felt like smacking Penelope because god_dammit_, she’d been _so_ close to calming Hope down without causing a scene. “Lost your nerve, Mikaelson?”

Hope growled at that, surging forward against Josie who promptly lost her balance, falling backwards in slow motion even as her fingers scrabbled for purchase against a furious Hope whilst she fell. 

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as she felt herself tipping, the chatter of high-school students fading to the background, a rock-hard collision with the ground beneath her rapidly approaching—and, just as soon as it’d begun, it stopped: all she could feel was a warm presence around her, hot breath ghosting across her nose, strong arms holding her steady even as her body remained nearly parallel with the grassy field below. 

“Oh, for Christ’s _sake_,” Josie heard Penelope's grumble from somewhere off to the side, and she could almost _see_ the no-doubt impressive eye-roll that followed from her clearly chagrined ex even as her lids remained tightly shut. 

“Josie?” came another voice from above her, tentative and concerned—_Hope’s_ voice, she realized after a prolonged moment, utterly devoid of any and all traces of the blazing fury from earlier. 

Stunned, she allowed her eyelids to flutter open, her breath catching in her throat at the sight just above her: Hope, her face inches from Josie’s, the yellowy tinge to her eyes now entirely faded back to their natural blueish green, full pink lips parted with worry. (She looked beautiful.)

Josie felt the heat settling low in her gut increase tenfold. “Hey,” she forced herself to say, wincing at the roughness of her voice. 

Hope just grinned, leaning in ever-so-slightly to nudge her nose gently against Josie’s. “Hey.”

(Needless to say, Hope was insatiable that night—the perfect mix of ravenous and almost painfully gentle, possessive yet delectably attentive, rough enough to leave purplish marks everywhere upon Josie’s milky-pale skin even whilst drowning her in affection and love and _care_ until there wasn’t a single doubt in Josie’s mind that Hope loved her just as earnestly as she always said.

It was perfect.)

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

Next, it was Josie talking with Raf at lunchtime, just like she’d been doing since his first week at Salvatore in an attempt to make him feel welcomed, to some degree, as well as she could manage. 

She remembers how they’d kissed once (well, twice, really) during the whole ‘homicidal spider’ debacle, and she’d told Hope about it directly following the incident in question (even if they weren’t quite together at the time), because she’s always hated the weight of secrets on her conscience, how they festered and festered until imploding in dramatic fashion, thereby dealing substantial damage to everyone unlucky enough to be even remotely within range of it. 

They were necessary sometimes, she knew, but she hated them just the same, hated knowing Hope was most constantly keeping something or another from her, hated that Hope and Josie’s father were both working hand-in-hand to obscure a large piece of the bigger picture from Josie’s view… even if it was to protect her. 

But, anyways—all that to say, Hope knew everything; Josie made sure of that, since even well before they'd begun dating (though the whole ‘arson’ thing was admittedly an exception—yet, still one she’d eventually come clean about given time). 

So, Hope knew about the kiss(es) with Raf, knew how Josie had siphoned the boy’s power in a bid to save themselves from a murderous overzealous spider, and she knew, too, that Josie and Raf had since become friends in some capacity, eating together at lunch more often than not whilst Hope focused on spells and schoolwork up in the solitude of her room. 

(Josie had learned fairly early on that is was a mistake to interrupt Hope in the midst of her research and preparations, that Hope needed her space and time on occasion to do what she needed to do without Josie there… once upon a time, it might’ve left her feeling rather inadequate, but she knew better by now. 

She knew it was the farthest thing from personal, and, truthfully, she found she was glad for the defined boundaries between the two of them anyhow: they were together, yes, and Josie would never dream of straying even if they didn’t spend each and every conceivable moment glued to each other’s side. 

Josie knew better than anyone how damaging that could be: becoming part of one solitary unit rather than focusing on retaining a feeling of ‘wholeness’ within yourself. It hurt Lizzie, and it hurt Josie, and most days she thinks that they’re still trying to recover from just how badly that costly mistake had negatively affected their relationship. 

Sometimes they fall back into old habits, too, because whoever once said that ‘Old habits die hard’ was most definitely right—it’s hard to find another way to live, another way to _be_.

When she and Hope first started dating, she couldn’t help wanting to cling desperately to her, to become _whole_ by way of soul-binding companionship—but, it’s unhealthy, they’ve both agreed, and Josie’s grateful every single day that Hope has the ability to see that a hell of a lot better than Josie ever could.)

She never thought Raf liked her—maybe there was a handful of moments in which she could feel a certain kind of undeniable electricity between the two of them, a certain unspoken understanding beneath every interaction that said they’d end up beautifully close if they continued on the tentative path laid before them. 

But, no. Another life, perhaps, because Josie thinks it would take her a lifetime to get over Hope, even if it probably sounds unquestionably stupid for her to be saying so as a teenaged girl who hasn’t even figured out what it is she wants to do with her life beyond Salvatore Boarding School.

She’s too young to be talking about forever and love and bonds forged stronger than the firmest of enchanted steels, because, really, she hasn’t lived nearly long enough to know the first thing about any of it, and she knows that. 

But, still… Still, Hope feels _different_.

(She always has.)

But, whatever—she’s getting off-topic here. 

Point is, Raf was a friend—and, although it’s likely somewhat presumptuous of Josie to say, she truly thinks that he’ll never be anything more than that. 

And, friends were good; you could never really have enough of them, and Raf seemed as good a guy as any to call ‘friend.’

He was funny, and mild-mannered (though bolder and even a little _mean_ when he needed to be—but, not towards Josie; _never_ towards Josie), and it didn’t seem to matter to him that he was a werewolf, and Josie was a witch, and in a lot of places that would be more than enough to justify a sort of palpable disconnect between them. 

He didn’t care about that stuff, and honestly, that was somewhat of a rarity, even at the more accepting places (or the only accepting places) such as Salvatore Boarding School. 

Everyone was friendly, of course, but there were unspoken borders between each ‘faction’—silent understandings that Lizzie would protect even Penelope Park (or 'Satan’ as Lizzie seemed to enjoy calling her) long before she spared a single glance Jed’s way, that Kaleb wouldn’t hesitate to give his life for MG but would most certainly find pause at the prospect of exchanging his future for Josie’s, that no one knew where Hope’s loyalties would lie (if anywhere) and should therefore be more or less ostracized from each community altogether. 

Still, Raf was different—maybe it was a byproduct of growing up in the dilapidated foster system, or just a commendable result of being _Raf_; either way, he was kind and good, and Josie loved having him as a friend. 

They could talk about anything, really—Josie could run through the latest spat between herself and Lizzie (thank _God_ the whole ‘Lizzie and Rafael’ melodrama had long since passed); Raf could worry endlessly about Landon and fitting in at Salvatore and nightmares of his past to someone who would listen and do her very best to help in any way she could. 

That day (the one where Hope wolfed out on her) was a normal day, as far as Josie can remember—mozzarella sticks and pizza for lunch, with color-changing Jell-O (enchanted by the witches on that week’s kitchen duty) for dessert. 

Josie never liked eating heavier things for lunch like pizza or hotdogs, but she grabbed a couple slices along with a generous handful of mozzarella sticks on her way to the salad bar, because she knew Raf’s appetite always demanded more than was even supernaturally reasonable for a teenaged werewolf—he would definitely be more than happy to scarf those down. 

And, just as she’d expected, Raf’s lunch tray was entirely emptied as she plopped down in a seat next to him, his wide brown eyes already eyeing the steaming slices of pizza where they sat beside the salad and bowl of fruit upon Josie’s plate. 

Giggling at his expense, she neatly stacked her tray atop his, then slid it to remain midway between the two of them so they could eat at the same time: pizza and mozzarella sticks on his end, chicken Caeser salad and strawberries on hers. 

He asked about Hope and Josie's classes, and she asked about Landon and his morning thus far in return; eventually, though, they arrived upon the topic of Penelope… though, truthfully, Josie’s not quite sure how they got there to begin with.

Either way, it hit her much harder than it should’ve, remembering what had happened last year and how deeply it still tore at her insides and how freaking much she’d opened herself up to someone she loved only to be so unceremoniously discarded like a broken doll—maybe it was that she hadn’t seen Hope since last night, or that she and Lizzie were still wordlessly fighting after a particularly heated argument from two days previous, or maybe it’d just been far too long since she’d let herself well and truly _crumble_. 

Whatever facilitated it all, she had a bit of a minor break down in the middle of the lunch halls—her ‘resting pouty face’ (that’s what Lizzie always calls it no matter how often Josie asks her not to) devolved into teary eyes and pitiful sniffles, the frustration and emotion rising within her like tidal waves of something far too all-consuming, a feeling she knew she couldn’t handle without the calming presence of Hope around her, the cinnamon-y scent she brought, the way she stroked Josie’s hair and whispered gentle reassurances until her breathing calmed and the suffocating sensation went away entirely. 

But, she didn't have Hope right then; she just had Raf, who smelt like vanilla bean and spearmint and something that was just so _wrong_ because it wasn't Hope, but she found herself collapsing anyways in his strong arms because she wasn't sure she could’ve forced herself to bear it without _something_ to anchor her, something strong and alive and _human_ to remind her that she wasn't nearly as lost as she felt, that the storm tearing her very consciousness into pieces wasn’t real like Hope and Lizzie and her father—that, above all else, it couldn’t hurt her, not if she didn’t let it.

She’s not sure how she managed it, how she caught sight of a snarling Hope beneath the sweeping arch of the cafetorium entrance through a vision blurred with tears and her head racing with a million conflicting thoughts per second—but, either way, Josie caught sight of her like a (devastatingly gorgeous) lighthouse in a storm, a luminescent beacon calling to her that made Raf’s strong arms around her seem wholeheartedly inadequate (even if he still is one of the greatest friends she’s ever made thus far). 

It’s a blur, from there—detangling herself from Raf’s well-meaning grip, stumbling past rows of teenaged students chattering about this and that over their lunch trays; but, at the end of it, there was Hope (in the literal and metaphorical sense) with that lovely cinnamon-y scent and calming presence even if her blue-green eyes flashed a concerning yellow and the tightness of her elegant jaw practically screamed her discontent while Josie stumbled gracelessly through her approach. 

She took Josie up to her room, the door only just closing behind them before Hope was sweeping Josie into a bridal carry with breathtaking strength (seriously, it never got old to witness) and growling a fragmented mess of words that Josie could only vaguely make out, though she heard the assertion “_Mine_” (the rough sound of it made her shiver involuntarily every time) more than enough to let her know what Hope was attempting to convey. 

They fell asleep that afternoon tangled solidly in in one another’s embrace, ignoring their respective afternoon classes planned for the day in favor of needy cuddles and whispered confessions and stolen kisses shared somewhere in that fuzzy reality between sleep and its ever-elusive counterpart—it was perfect.

And, by the time Josie’s tears had long dried and Hope’s agitation at seeing Raf curling Josie tightly into his chest had only slightly lessened? Well. 

She’d always known damn well that she was Hope’s and Hope was hers no matter what anyone else would say—but, it certainly didn’t hurt to re-assert that every once in a while, especially if it meant Hope was looking at her like _that_ and leaving possessive marks everywhere upon her alabaster skin and devoting hours to prove that Josie didn't ever need Raf or Penelope or anyone else that wasn’t Hope pinning her to the mattress and pleasuring her until she screamed. 

So, okay, Josie reasoned—maybe she didn’t quite mind Hope being such a territorial girlfriend. 

Maybe, just maybe, she <strike>kind of</strike> adored it. 

≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈ ≈

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments? concerns?🤧
> 
> also here’s the link to my 


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